In Nazi Germany - The untold history
by TopferTop
Summary: The year is 1938. Harry Potter is a 14 year old kid living in London who discovered that his parents, Jakob and Linda Töpfer, were Adolf Hitler's closest friends and court magicians who were shot by Judeo-Bolshevik controlled state police during the Beer Hall Putsch 1923 and he was afterwards entrusted to his burgeouise uncle and his suffragette wife who swore never to let Harry… s
1. Chapter 1

**HARRY POTTER IN NAZI GERMANY – Herman Töpfer and the Philosopher's Stone**

The year is 1938. Harry Potter is a 14 year old kid living in London who discovered that his parents, Jakob and Linda Töpfer, were Adolf Hitler's closest friends and court magicians who were shot by Judeo-Bolshevik controlled state police during the Beer Hall Putsch 1923 and he was afterwards entrusted to his burgeouise uncle and his suffragette wife who swore never to let Harry… sorry, Hermann know about his true calling.

But destiny always finds its way as Harry meets Reubens Haggrüd, his Bavarian godfather, who reveals the true horror of conspiracy between Jews and Bolsheviks who seek to control the world and neuter the überrmenschen race of Aryans, the German people.

Harry realizes that to honor both his Fatherland and Führer, he must travel to the Reich, where he meets Roland and Henrietta as well as other wizards in training in the magic school of Kehlsteinhaus – the Eagle's Nest..

 **Chapter I.**

Harry Potter woke up. It was dark in the house and darker so in his tiny room under the stairs. The house creaked as he heard his uncle Vernon Dursley descend from cozy upstairs bedroom into the kitchen to eat some blood pudding and jellied eels while sipping his morning tea. Harry's blanket was wet as it was raining outside in the best british fashion and his room had no heating.

Vernon's wife was already up, making banners that laugh in the face of traditional family values that keep society together. Today's banner had „EQUAL PAY FOR WOMEN" written on it in large bright red letters. Not that Petunia ever worked in her life, mind you. Her husband was a wealthy industrialist happily exploiting uneducated massess for blood money. He co-owned a Hawker factory and war profiteering was bringing more than enough cash to set them for life and put their son Dudley – whose mongoloid features shed no doubt onto his inferior genetic heritage that was unworthy of propagating into next generation – into Cambridge when the time comes.

Harry closed his eyes and drowsed. He had a dream about his parents again. He knew that his father and mother died fighting for the rights of children to work for 30% pay and was proud at them for doing so. Everyday he was told by his father how even no-good layabout like Harry could contribute and make Great Britain even richer.

However, his father was never a proud industrialist in his dreams. Instead, he was a rebel, fighting against the unjust Treaty of Versailles armed with a Mosin-Nagant rifle which had a gleaming silvery barrel. This time he stood proudly in the streets of some great city next to an imposing figure with a moustache. His father was an epitome of a Man. Tall, blonde, with a great jawline and muscles bulging under his shirt. His mother was likewise tall and blonde, with wide hips suited for giving many sons to her country. In his dream, he saw the determination in their faces and love for their leader and country before their looks distorted by the pain caused by several gunshot wounds.

Harry sighed and decided that it was time to wake up. His two lightning-shaped scars on his forehead ached. He wondered whether there would be sausage or some bread at the table, because he hated the taste of jellied eels and one look at his British uncle's rotten teeth has always reminded him that he does not want to eat food like Vernon does, lest he ends up like him.

 _Just another day serving the Queen and Country,_ Harry thought. _How I hate bowing my head and pandering to the degenerate aristos. I wish to find a true Leader someday. A man that can inspire me to serve beyond the call of duty, to give everything I have to fight for a worthy cause. To stand against all the oppressors in the world…_

But he knew nothing ever happens in the Dursley house, where status quo is everything and the massess blindly let üntermenschen like his uncle exploit them.


	2. Chapter 2 - Menschen im Sturm

**Chapter II.**

„Open the door, _schnell!_ " a voice thundered suddendly accompanied by loud knocking on the front door, „It's wet and damp outside!"

Harry held his breath as Vernon and Petunia looked at each other before approaching the door. „Who's there?" asked uncle as he clutched an old cavalry sabre in his fat, soft hand that never knew honest work, „We are not expecting anyone today and we don't want any solicitors!"

„ _Donnerwetter_ , can we do the introductions inside? I am Hermann's godfather and I can't wait to experience some famous british hospitality!" the voice said. Harry sighed. There would be no excitement today, as the mysterious stranger obviously knocked on the wrong door. No Hermann lived here.

Vernon inhaled sharply before his face turned red as he shouted: „BLOODY HELL, THERE IS NO HERMANN HERE! BUGGER OFF AND LEAVE HONEST FOLK ALONE!"

Harry wondered what happened as Vernon was in an even worse mood that ever before. He was usually at least trying to be polite to strangers. Maybe he knew this Hermann and hated him?

Whatever the cause for shouting was, the angry tone seemed to have worked. The man behind the door did not say anything anymore and steps could be heard as he was going away.

However, Vernon did not seem to be mollified by that. He turned to Petunia instead and said: „I told you they'd come for him one day. These kraut gobshites don't give a shite about us raising that kid proper. We should have sent him to Australia to farm kangaroos or some bollocks long ago."

„Nay, I gave a soddin promise to meself that there will be no more nazi wankers in our family and so I raised him a proper british child," said Petunia in her whiny voice, „I will not let them take him after all the work I put into him, even the freemason lodge said they can use him, that he has potential!"

Vernon sighed and put the sabre back in its scabbard. „Right you are there darlin. The masonic lodge will pay us handsomely after all, we just need to hold out one more month and when he is 15, he will be forever gone and I'll buy ye a castle in France."

Harry was stupefied. Is it possible they were talking about him? Why would anyone want to pay for him, especially considering that everyone in his life so far only told him how useless he was and that he'd never amount to anything. What is a lodge anyway?

„Anyway, I'd best write a letter to Goldstein so that he'll do the pickup earlier than agreed. I don't want any bosh pricks wandering around."

Goldstein? Harry remembered how he was introduced to a wealthy big-nosed banker friend of his uncle a year ago. He didn't like Moshe Goldstein from the first feeble sweaty handshake. He didn't like the way Moshe asked if he had any „special dreams" and then complimented him on growing up

to be a very handsome man. When Harry asked him what is that pyramid badge with eye Moshe is wearing, the banker retreated to the living room with his uncle and aunt and Harry was left alone again, much to his relief.

Harry decided that he wouldn't want to be a servant, or worse, to Goldstein. Not all things can be bought, even though the Jews liked to think so. He gulped nervously and approached Vernon, who sat down to a table and was writing a letter.

„Uncle, do you have a minute to talk?"

Vernon made an ink blot as the question surprised him. „I am kind of busy, you little git," he snapped angrily, „why don't you sod off to your room and not bother me?"

„But uncle…" stammered Harry.

„GO!"

Shoulders hunched, Harry turned around and went back to his room, where he took out his most prized possession – a notepad with a pencil, where he drew plans for battleships and tanks. His newest plan was for an advanced heavy tank, weighing 54 tonnes and armed with a huge repurposed anti-airraft cannon. Harry knew no nation in the world is so advanced as to be able to manufacture the tank, lest design a powerful enough engine to move the amazing beast, but he found solace in the elegant simplicity of armor's boxy outline. He imagined himself driving into battle against hordes of weak tanks, their smaller cannons unable to penetrate 100 mm of frontal steel armor as Harry would blast them with the powerful gun.

He didn't ask where he got the knack for engineering. Since he was 11, he was sneaking into Vernon's library whenever the opportunity arose and read books about physics, material engineering and factory construction. He now knew pretty much everything his uncle did, but Harry also had intuition that other people lacked. He remembered how Vernon shouted at him when Harry dared to point out a critical flaw with the canopy of Hawker Hurricane that kept the design team way behind schedule. Later that week, his uncle was commended by the minister of aviation for „his" ingenious solution.

Just as Harry started scribbling plans for 12 engined transport plane made of plywood powered by slavic slaves to prevent fuel dependency (there are always more than enough slavs), there was a loud „THUD" as someone banged on the door again.

„OPEN UP DURSLEY, IN THE NAME OF THE REICH!" someone shouted, this time clearly angry and impatient.

Harry quietly opened the door to his room and looked to the hallway, where his uncle's face turned red again as he was waving the sabre maniacally and made his wife dodge the sharpened edge.

„GO AWAY OR I WILL CALL THE GENDARMES! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME ANYWAY?"

There was a brief silence interrupted by the sound of what seemed to be someone patting down his coat looking for something while muttering to himself. „Now where did I… I swear I put it somewhere here… Oh there it is! Now LISTEN!"

„By the authority invested in the Führer of the Reich, I, _Sturmbahnführer-Hexenpraktikant_ Reubens Haggrüd hereby request guardianship of the Reichcitizen named Hermann Töpfer, born 25th of July, 1923, to Linda Töpfer, wife to esteemed and honored Jakob Töpfer, confidant of the Führer himself. Young Töpfer is to be educated according to the proud Germanic traditions and inducted into the

order of Ahnenerbe at the rank of _Unthersturmführer-Hexenpraktikant_ with full honors after successfully demonstrating his Thule heritage.

Unwillingness to comply with this order will not be tolerated and _Sturmbahnführer-Hexenpraktikant_ Haggrüd is permitted at his discretion to use any means necessary to fulfill Führer's wish.

 **Signed, Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of the Reich."**


End file.
